Victim
by Apion
Summary: Neither all the first-aid courses he had attended nor had his mission training prepared Bud for the sight that met him in Harms apartment... Chapter 12 up, finally.
1. Chapter one

Title: Victim

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I don't own Jag, never have and never will I'm afraid. The characters unfortunately belong to a certain D. P. Bellisario… Except those that I maybe invent myself, they belong to me.

Summary: Neither all the first-aid courses he had attended nor had his mission training prepared Bud for the sight that met him in Harms apartment...

A/N: This is my first fic. Since English just is my third language, there are probably some grammar errors, words spelled wrong and strange formulations. So don't be too hard.

If you can't get enough of it (ha-ha), think it is better of in the recycle bin, or couldn't care less, please tell me.

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**_Part one_**

Bud sat down in his car and drove to Harm's apartment. He wasn't worried. Harm had told him that he was going to a party Saturday night, so he had probably just overslept or forgot about the football game Bud had got front row tickets for. Harm hadn't picked up his phone, so Bud thought he could go see him and wake him up.

He arrived in front of Harm's building, found a parking space and went up the stairs to Harm's apartment. It was such a nice day. The atmosphere at the game would be great. He imagined himself at the game already, cheering, with a big hot-dog in his hand. They had planned a small trip to the office before the game because of some paperwork; but it wasn't that important. So if they skipped it, there would be lots of time to reach the game before it started. As he approached the door he saw that it was slightly open. That was kind of strange. The neighborhood was quite safe, but leaving the door open wasn't very wise, especially since the neighbors underneath him had had uninvited guests just a couple of days before they moved out two weeks ago.

Bud started to feel nervous and a small voice in his head said that something wasn't right. He knocked, no one answered, the place was silent, disquieting silent. Something was definitely not right. He carefully pushed the door open while calling Harms name.

Neither all the first-aid courses he had attended nor had his mission training prepared him for the sight that met him in Harms apartment. He could have dealt with it easier if it was a stranger, but this was his colleague and best friend. He felt like throwing up, started to shiver profusely and was unable to move from where he stood in the doorway. On the floor, just a small distance from the door laid Harm in his dress white. Two thin streaks of half coagulated blood slowly ran down his forehead from two small wounds just underneath his hairline. Small drops of blood still occasionally dripped from his forehead and filled up the small pool which had formed on the floor. His white hat had sled of his head and into the forming blood pool, and started to gain a sickening reddish color. In Harms right hand was his service-gun with a finger still on the trigger….

Not quite sure where I'm going with this story, but I have some clues for the next chapter(s). But again; please review.


	2. Chapter two

Disclaimer: I don't own JAG etc, etc…..

A/N: Thank's for all the great reviews. I'm glad that so many of you liked the first chapter. Hope that this one won't be a total anticlimax. 

Since I'm no doctor, I don't know if it is possible to survive the kind of injuries Harm has got, but in this story it is, for now at least…..

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**_Part two_**

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It felt like hours before Bud felt he was able to move, but in reality it was only seconds. He ran over to Harm and checked his pulse; he had problems to find the right spot because of his shivering. Nothing. "No, this can't be true, it has to be a dream, a really bad dream", Bud desperately tried to comfort himself. All the stuff he had learned in the first-aid courses flashed through his head; it was so much easier when it was a dummy laying there and not his best friend. In his desperation he checked the pulse again, still nothing, or wait; did he feel a beat, or was it just his own heart pounding. There it was again, it was weak, but definitely a beat. Harm was alive, at least for now, but he wasn't conscious. Bud leaned down and put his ear near Harm's mouth, he couldn't hear or feel Harm's breath, and panic started to spread in his mind. "Get a grip on yourself; you know how to handle a situation like this. Panicking is the worst thing you can do". He tried to keep calm, called an ambulance and described the situation. The ambulance would be there in fifteen minutes, and the police would be informed, as was always the case when there had been shooting.

Then he started mouth to mouth. He blew twice into Harm's mouth, checked for a reaction and blew twice more. Some gurgling noises came from Harm's throat, he took two shallow breaths, and nothing more happened.  Bud blew a couple of times more, Harm took two more breathes, followed by a third, a fourth, a fifth… He was breathing.

The nauseating smell of blood, together with the sight of so much of it, made it hard to not throw up, and knowing that the blood belonged to his best friend didn't make it better. But Bud just avoided to take deep breaths and carried on. The panic had worn off and he was fully concentrated now. He ran into the bathroom, picked up some clean towels, and wrapped one of them carefully around Harms head. The wounds weren't bleeding very much any more, so the towel would hopefully stop the bleeding all together. It wasn't much more he could do for Harm before the ambulance arrived, except for just being there for him. It was the longest minutes of his life, the ten minutes he sat talking to Harm without expecting an answer. The only interruption was the checking of Harms pulse and breathing every other minute. Bud felt so alone in this frightful situation. He feared that his best friend was going to die and blamed himself for it. Maybe hadn't he reacted quickly enough or perhaps if he had arrived ten minutes earlier Harm wouldn't have been shot at all? And maybe had some of his actions made Harms injuries worse, all kind of horrible thoughts went through his head. 

The ambulance finally arrived and brought Harm to the hospital. Bud sat by him the entire time. At the hospital Harm was examined, a CAT-scan was performed and then he was taken straight to surgery. The bullets would in all probability kill him if they weren't removed very soon.  Bud, emotionally exhausted, sat in the waiting area. A nurse approached him, "Mr. Roberts?" It took a while before he noticed her. He was just staring into the wall, preoccupied with his depressing thoughts and not aware of his surroundings.  "Do you know who Mr. Rabb's next of kin is? It is important so that we can notify them," she said to him in a decisive but also comforting tone. It was probably not the first time she had asked this question. "It's Sarah Mackenzie, Mr. Rabb's fiancée" Bud answered and turned his eyes towards the wall again.  


	3. Chapter three

Disclaimer: I still don't own JAG…

A/N: Thank's again for all the reviews, I really appreciate them, it's so nice to see that someone actually is reading this. I know that the previous chapters have been rather short. But have had more time lately, so this one is longer. There's a lot of description, but hope it doesn't get too boring.  Please review!!

**_Part three_**

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Mac had spent the day planning her move into Harm's apartment. With a big cup of cocoa and in the most comfortable, baggy clothes she owned, she had been thinking about furniture. She had made lists of what of his and hers that would look good together, and underlined those of Harm's items that she absolutely didn't want to have around in their mutual apartment. Some of his things just had bachelor written all over them. But there probably had to be some compromises about that. They had both agreed that his place was the one best suited for two people. It was bigger and the space was used in a better way. The exact date for the big moving day wasn't set yet, but hopefully it would happen in the near future. 

Mac and Harm had been good friends, and nothing more, for a long time. Or at least they thought they could live their life as just friends. But there had always been something special between them. She had never had high thoughts about his girlfriends; they were all blond bimbos or hysterical half-wits to her. His taste in women had always been a mystery to her. She could just imagine what he was thinking with when he chose girlfriends; his brain could certainly not have much to do with it. Harm, for that matter, had never gotten particularly well along with Mac's boyfriends either. There had always been some kind of tension, or rivalry between him and them. He found that all of her boyfriends were complete dorks and couldn't understand what she possible could see in them. With her looks, she could do so much better.

Two years ago things between them had changed. Mac had just ended a relationship with a Lieutenant; he had big problems with the fact that she outranked him, and she found out it wasn't worth it. She promised herself that she would never date again. Men were just looking for overdressed Barbie-dolls with no authority; she would rather grow old alone than succumb to that. Harm, on the other hand, had been single for quite some time and felt he was ready for a new relationship. Then it just happened that they ended up in the same club a Saturday night. They didn't know that Harriet had been very active in setting up this "coincidental" meeting. She felt they were meant for each other, and she wasn't the only one. Everyone at JAG, except maybe for the main characters themselves, agreed in that matter. They had seen how Mac laughed at Harm's jokes, even if they weren't that funny, and how Harm lately had behaved rather foolishly, and did all kinds of mistakes when Mac was around. It seemed like he completely melted when she smiled. And since Mac and Harm didn't realize it themselves and the others couldn't take it anymore, something had to be done. Harriet was the right person for the job. She was an expert in this kind of secret missions. She had overheard that Harm was going to the club, and had persuaded Mac to join her on a girl's night out the same evening. Then they had just "coincidentally" ended up at the club were Harm spent his evening. It was important that they could meet in a situation that wasn't work-related, since the atmosphere hopefully would make them loosen up a little. Of course they were good friends, and could tell each other almost everything, but there always had been some kind of indescribable distance between them that limited them in getting closer. That had to disappear if something ever should happen between them. When Harm and Mac had met and started talking about how surprised they were to meet each other, Harriet had just silently disappeared into the crowd. And her matchmaking had surprisingly worked; it was two changed people that came to work the next Monday. The distance between them had been completely wiped out, and some weeks later they started dating. They hadn't told anyone they were seeing each other before they announced their engagement almost five months later. But they suspected that everybody knew that something was going on, since many of their colleagues so often suddenly stopped their conversation when they entered the room. The announcement was met with joy. The whole stab at JAG had just been waiting for it. A big celebration followed. 

Since they couldn't both work at JAG when they were married it was soon arranged that Harm would work as a legal advisor in the Pentagon. He didn't look forward to leaving JAG, but for Sarah he would go to the North Pole if he had to. Their future together seemed bright and they enjoyed their new life together. 

Then one disastrous phone call changed their lives forever. Maybe their future together would never happen after all. The man Mac loved above all others, and who simultaneously was her best friend would maybe not survive the night. Moving and furniture were suddenly not important anymore. The only thing that mattered was to get to the hospital as fast as possible, so that she could be with him. When she later looked back, she found it incredible that she managed to stay calm enough to drive. When she much later left the hospital she had no idea where she had parked her car, she used quite long time to find it. The whole drive to the hospital was just a big blur.  

The E.R., a place like nowhere else, a bizarre world of its own. A place where the cycle of life both starts and ends. The smell of disinfectants and the sterility of the walls make it feel cold and distant. Always busy, people rushing around, seemingly without purpose, but whom precisely know where to be and what to do. Just like bees in a hive. The sound of people crying for their loved ones, others screaming in pain, makes the place unbearable. 

Mac ran towards the information desk in the emergency room, while trying to avoid hitting the patients, the doctors and the nurses pushing hospital beds, who all passed in her way. At the desk they couldn't tell her more than she already knew. As soon as the doctors knew more about his condition, she would be notified. A nurse showed her to the waiting area. There she spotted Bud. He looked up when he heard steps approaching, and their looks met. They went towards each other; words weren't necessary.  He put his arms around her and she put hers around him. They both cried silently.  Bud had called Harriet a few moments ago. She had been visiting her parents together with little A.J. this weekend. The message came as a shock to her; tears welled up and filled her eyes. This couldn't happen, not now when Mac and Harm's relationship finally seemed to get the fairytale ending it was supposed to; happily ever after. She would get on the first plane. Little A.J. could stay with her parents for a while.

Admiral Chegwidden reacted in his own way when he got the message. He had lost so many friends and fellow soldiers in his time, so pain and death were maybe more common to him than to the others. Most of his other friends that had passed away, he had usually only known for some intensive months or at the most a couple of years, during combat training, before they were killed in action, or stated as missing. In a situation like that you learned not to know your friends to well, because then it wasn't so hard to loose them. But with Harm it was different, he had known him for almost ten years now and got accustomed to have him around. He had known other people longer than that, but he didn't know them as well as Harm, and didn't appreciate them as much either. His first impression of Harm hadn't been great, he had thought of him as an overbearing know-how, and often given him a hard time. But he had soon found out that this first impression was completely wrong. Harm wasn't like that at all.  He was a fine officer. The Navy should be proud to have him. Of course some of Harms actions during the years had been rather controversial and gotten him, and the Navy, into some awkward situations, but Chegwidden himself hadn't exactly been an angel in his younger days either, and he had become an admiral. Harm couldn't leave him know, after letting him getting to know him so well, for so many years. It wouldn't be fair, it would be selfish. If Harm had got shoot just some months after Chegwidden arrived at JAG it wouldn't have worried him so much, it would just have been one more young man dieing to soon. But now he felt sick with worrying, he felt he was growing older every minute. It was almost like Harm was the son he never had. But Harm was a survivor, he had always landed on his feet, and his luck couldn't run out now. 

It was almost midnight before Harm came out of surgery. Mac and Bud had been sitting there all day, or sitting wasn't the right word. They had mostly been walking back and forth and every now and then asked for news about Harm at the information desk. The Admiral had also arrived when a doctor finally approached them and started talking.

"It's like this..." he said. By his expression it didn't seem like too good news." He's alive, and in the ICU. But he's in a deep coma, and, I'm sorry, but it is impossible to know when, or even if he will wake up. He experienced some breathing problems, so a respirator helps him breathe" Bud and Mac held each others hands. Their tears were streaming freely down their cheeks. Even the admiral, who normally was calm as a rock, had to wipe of some tears with his sleeve. 

The doctor continued. "It was a complicated surgery. The first bullet was firmly lodged in Mr. Rabb's cranium. It took quite a while to remove it, except for the cranial damage, it doesn't seem to have caused more than a small rupture of the dura mater, which was quickly sorted out." Mac could see he was reluctant to continue. She feared what would come next. "But the second bullet on the other hand, was more complicated. It penetrated through the upper parts of right hemisphere of the frontal lobe and damaged quite a lot of the nerves leading to the motor cortex. We had to open the craniu…" 

"And what does this mean in English? That he will become a vegetable if he survives?" Chegwidden had started to get annoyed by the doctor's use of medical terms he didn't understood. 

"It means that there was some irreversible damage to the center of the motory functions. If he wakes up he will probably have a more or less serious degree of paralysis. His balance and other functions can also be affected. We just have to wait and see. "  

The doctor was uncomfortable in the situation. He tried to use the word "if", and not "when", while he was talking about the patient waking up. "When" could give relative and friends false hopes. He was young and had not been in a position like this too often. It was hard to tell people that it was a fair chance that their loved ones may not would survive and then try to comfort them, even if the situation for them was inconsolable.

Mac was allowed to see Harm for a couple of minutes. The bandage covering most of his head, and the tubing and wiring together with the beeping machines around him made him look alien. It was impossible to believe that this pale, almost ghostly looking person lying there was Harm. It was unreal. She almost didn't dare to touch him; she was afraid that some of the tubing would be pulled out. It was just then she realized how much she actually loved him, how much she wanted to be with him for the rest of her life. It is peculiar how you often don't realize how much you love a person before it almost is too late. A few minutes she sat there alone with him, quiet, just holding his hand. She felt useless, it was nothing she could do to help him. She was used to be in control of things, not helplessly on the sideline.  Leaving him again was terrible, one of the worst things she had ever done. After all it was a possibility that he wouldn't be alive the next time she saw him. Bud and A.J. had been shown up to the waiting room of the ICU where they met up with Mac again. It would be a long night.

Next morning, in a motel room across town, a man was eating his breakfast, consisting of Chinese take-out. The motel room was filthy and the paint was chipping of the walls. A layer of dust covered the room and gave it a gloomy appearance. The only thing in the room that didn't look damaged or worn out was the bible in the top drawer. People that used to stay at this motel weren't looking for words of the Bible. Some of the rooms were rented by the hour. The stolen looks of husbands meeting with their mistresses and the noise of the squeaking bed in the next room, gave away the dirty business that usually went on at the motel. But this guy didn't care what was going on, he was leaving soon anyway. Yesterday he had accomplished something he had tried for so many years. Not everything had gone according to his plan, but he had got the result he wanted. He was leaving town, leaving the country. He had got his revenge. 

But then a small article at the bottom of page six in the newspaper in front of him, made him furious, he cried out in anger. The headline of the article read "Naval officer fights for his life after supposed staged suicide." 


	4. Chapter four

Disclaimer: I don't own JAG. Do you think I would post my stories here if I did??

A/N: Thank's again for the reviews. It's unbelievable that everyone seems to like the story. But please keep writing reviews!! I know this chapter is rather short, but I'm really busy at the moment.

**_Part four_**

The police had arrived at Harm's apartment just a few minutes after the ambulance left. The apartment was sealed off to preserve eventual evidence. Forensic technicians soon examined every inch of it minutely. Not much was found. The fingerprints belonged to either Harm, Bud or the ambulance people. It would take a day or two to analyze the hairs and fibers which were found at the scene. That would hopefully give better results. But there were hints that it wasn't an attempted suicide. The gun gave an important clue. Only Harm's fingerprints were found, but they were all weak. When a person commits suicide by shooting himself, the fingerprints one the gun usually are very clear, since a desperate man typically grips the handle of the gun very hard. But this wasn't the only clue. The slightly open door questioned that this was a suicide attempt. A man about to commit suicide doesn't leave the door open. If he has made the difficult decision that suicide is the only possible way, he wouldn't want to be saved last minute. So he would make sure to close the door, or lock it if possible. And then it was Harm's state of mind. There were no indications that he was suicidal, or depressed at all for that matter. He was the same person as always, healthy, both physically and psychically, with a good sense of quite goofy humor. You don't try to commit suicide just from one day to another, usually months of thinking and preparing lies behind.  

It was Monday morning; the Admiral had to go to the office.  He had to rearrange the work schedule. With Lt. Col. Mackenzie on leave until further notice and with a chance that Cmdr. Rabb never would be back, Commander Turner and Lieutenant Roberts would have a lot of work the next weeks. But there was too much work for them alone, so a substitute for Harm had to be hired in.  Both Bud and Harriet had gotten the day off; it wouldn't be rational to make them come to work after a traumatic night at the hospital.

The atmosphere at JAG was not as it used to be. It was like everyone waited for Harm and Mac to arrive, but at the same time knew it wouldn't happen. The employees did the work they had to do, went through the cases that absolutely couldn't wait, but their minds were somewhere else. 

At the hospital there were no changes. The anesthetics had worn off, but Harm wasn't conscious. He was in a coma. There were no signs that he would wake up in the near future.

Mac hadn't been lying down at all during the night; she had just been wandering restlessly around as in a trance.  She desperately wanted to sit by Harm's side, holding his hand and being there for him. Doctors and nurses almost continuously rushed in and out of Harms room. There was almost constantly someone in his room, checking his vitals and looking after the machines. Why she wasn't allowed to sit by his side was a puzzle to her.  She wouldn't be in the way in the case of an emergency.  She was just afraid that Harm would die surrounded by strangers.

Bud's body was aching everywhere as he tried to stretch his limbs after a night alternating between walking back and forth an lying down on two chairs he had pulled together. The chairs hadn't been comfortable, oh God his back was killing him, and his feet had started to get sore because of his walking up and down the hallway. The shoes he wore were fairly new and not used enough to be comfy. But he tried not to think about the little pain and soreness he experienced. What Harm had to go through if he survived would be so much worse.

Harriet had joined them late Sunday evening; she was exhausted because of her travel and managed to sleep for an hour or two. But it wasn't a calm sleep. The same terrible dream about Harm in a pool of blood on the floor had haunted her over and over again. Bud had told her about the terrible minutes he had experienced so vividly that it had sneaked upon her in her dream, there with herself starring as the person who found Harm. And she found him over and over again, every time more blood-stained. She was relieved when she finally awoke, she didn't know if she could have handled to have the dream again. The little sleep she'd got didn't do much good; she was almost more exhausted now than before she fell asleep.

A detective together with a uniformed policeman came to question Bud about what he had seen in Harm's apartment.

"Besides your injured friend, did you see anything out of the ordinary in the apartment", the detective asked in an official tone. 

"I was focused on helping Harm, eh Commander Rabb, so looking around in the apartment wasn't exactly my first priority," Bud tried to think. He would do everything to help finding the person who had tried to kill Harm. But he couldn't remember anything and felt useless. Then suddenly something came back to him. "It was really strange though, that he wore his dress whites. It was Sunday, and we were going to a football game", he remembered that he had been wondering about that a few seconds the moment he found Harm.

The detective questioned Bud for half an hour and then went on to Mac. Hen wanted to know a little more about Harm, his mental state, if he had enemies and other relevant information.

"Of cause he has enemies", Mac answered dejected when the question came up. "He is a lawyer in the Judge Advocate General corps, hundreds of people have probably ended up in jail because him. Many of them who can be characterized as completely unscrupulous, they would feel no remorse in killing him, or anyone else for that matter".

At the motel, the man had just paid for some extra days. He had to stay longer, make a new plan and finish what he came for. The article in the newspaper revealed which hospital Harm was admitted to, so he had to get more familiar with the place. It should be quite easy to take Harm out, if he really was in such a serious condition like the newspaper said. At first he would just keep himself updated on Harm's condition, and wait.  He couldn't let him wake up, that would be the end of his life as a free man, but nothing would be better than if Harmon Rabb Jr., his hated enemy, died without more "help". Either way, that son of a bitch would not leave the hospital alive!


	5. Chapter five

Disclaimer: I don't own JAG blah blah blah.

A/N: I greatly appreciate all the feedback. Keep it coming. 

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**_Part five_**

Harm opened his eyes. He felt like he had been sleeping for a long time. It was time to get up. He went out of bed, opened the door to what he was used to was his living room, and entered it. But then he felt confused, were was he? The scenery wasn't familiar. It was definitely not his living room. He was in a garden, with trees and flowers as long as he could see. Colorful birds flew around in the canopy. The temperature was nice, not to cold and not to hot. There were children playing, people walking around or sitting and talking in one of the numerous garden pavilions scattered over the area. They all looked so happy and peaceful, as if they were without worries or fears. The whole place gave an impression of perfection. It felt strange, he didn't belong there; he wanted to leave and turned around. The door he just entered had vanished in thin air. There was only garden, with green lawns and flowers. A butterfly flew by him. He had never seen such a big butterfly before. It was bright, and the birds could easily spot it, but it seemed they weren't interested. They were to busy flying around in a playful manner, and singing magnificent little songs.

He had an eerie feeling about the situation. What was this place, and what the hell was he doing here? He looked at his watch. "Damn, I should have been at the office an hour ago". He could just imagine what kind of punishment Chegwidden would give him, probably hours and hours of paperwork all week. The Admiral wasn't gracious when some of his staff came in late.  

Since no exit was in sight and he had no idea were to go, he just started walking in the direction he was pointing. The people seemed so annoyingly happy, he just wanted to get out of there as fast as possible, and have nothing to do with them. The whole place was surreal. He had to get to work, so he started to walk faster.

Suddenly he stopped. The impression of perfection shattered quickly. Was he really seeing what he thought he was seeing? Mac, in a revealing dress, sitting in one of the garden pavilions together with Tiner? And kissing him? Tiner was blushing and they both were giggling nervously like teenagers meeting secretly behind a barn.  "What the hell, Tiner?" Harm rubbed his eyes and pinched himself. But they were both still there, giggling and kissing in the pavilion. This couldn't be real. And where had she got that dress? She had never worn anything like it in his presence. "Well this can't go on; I need to have a serious talk with her. She is my wife for God's sake", he hurried towards the happy "couple".  "And why Tiner", he asked himself rather deflated. He maybe could have understood if she had an affair with another colonel or an admiral. But a petty officer? And of all the petty officers in the world, Tiner, an immature nitwit, who probably still would have lived with his mother, if it wasn't for his father who enlisted him in the navy. Harm was about to blow.  Tiner would regret this! 

He silently approached them. It didn't seem that they noticed him. He was just about to put his hand on Tiner's shoulder when suddenly everything changed, the world started to spin and faded into darkness.

Mac sat by Harm's side. It was tree days since he had been shot. His condition was stable for the moment, so she was allowed to sit with him for longer periods. He was still in a coma, but she felt he was more alive now. His eyes twitched a little, and she could swear that he had moved his right little finger a bit. It was almost as if he was dreaming. Mac had heard somewhere that coma victims maybe can hear what is said to them, so she talked to him. She talked to him about everything, from the weather to how his favorite football team was doing it.  She tried to sound cheerful and happy, which in this situation wasn't an easy task, if anything she felt like crying. 

Bud and Harriet had left yesterday evening. They had to go home to get some rest, they both probably had to go to work the next day that is today. Bud hadn't wanted to leave; he still blamed himself for Harm's condition and had a terrible time. He hadn't slept at all since it happened. He was afraid it would haunt him in his sleep, and didn't dare to close his eyes. Harriet was finally able to persuade him to go home with her. It wouldn't do Harm any good if Bud collapsed because of exhaustion and had to be admitted to the hospital too. 

Mac hadn't left the hospital for a minute since she arrived there three days ago. A vending machine had provided her with what she needed of food and drinks. But she really needed a shower, and the only plant she had in her apartment, probably would have liked some water. Not that watering the plant was so extremely important; it was a cactus, so it didn't need much water. It had been a silly present from Harm, but it suddenly meant so much more now. She had to go home for some hours to get some rest. She looked at Harm, there was no change. He was there, but at the same time he wasn't. Mac kissed him on his cheek, the oxygen mask and the bandage almost covered the rest of his head. She didn't want to, but she had to leave him for some hours. She rose from the chair and went to the door, there she turned around and looked at him one more time. It was hard not to cry. He was so dreadfully pale. It tore at her soul to see Harm like this. Reluctantly she closed the door behind her and silently walked down the corridor.

At the forensic lab DNA had been extracted from the hairs found at the scene, and was now run through a database of known felons. After a few minutes the computer started to beep, and stopped searching. It had found a match. A sheet of paper came out of a printer, and a lab technician picked it up. Another pair of hands quickly ripped the peace of paper out of the technician's hands, as if it was on fire.  "Damn that bastard" Clayton Webb clenched his fists as he studied the paper he just had got his hands on. The sheet of paper, now crumpled up like a ball, fell to the floor. The DNA matched the person he feared it would. This person was a sick maniac, a master of disguise, who wouldn't give up. Making Harm's life miserable was his only plan in life. He had tried, and temporarily succeeded before. And if he found out that Harm still was alive, he would try again until he got an, for him adequate result, or died trying. That meant, Harm's life would probably end very soon if not something was done. "Clark Palmer, that fuckin' maniac", Webb grinded his teeth as he said the name. The next weeks wouldn't be easy. Palmer was hard to catch. Something probably had come in-between since he hadn't covered all his clues. It wasn't like Palmer to do serious mistakes. 

Webb had things to do. He had to arrange for a guard outside Harm's room in the hospital. Harm would probably end up dead before night fall, if this wasn't instantly taken care of. Harm's safety was top priority now. Webb hadn't much confidence in the local police. Usually one officer had no clue about what the other one was doing. So he would make sure that the CIA would lead this case. And then he had to talk to Admiral Chegwidden. The Admiral felt about Palmer in the same way as himself, and knew Harm very well, without getting too personally involved. The Admiral's knowledge would be indispensable. Webb knew it, and even if he disliked bringing outsiders into a case, they usually screwed things up; this time it would be unwise not to.


	6. Chapter six

Disclaimer: Don't own JAG

A/N: Thanks again for the feedback. Continue telling me what you mean!

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**_Part 6_**

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Clayton Webb sat in his office, and read through Harm's case file. Since the cause of Harm's condition was so obvious, not many tests had been performed when he first arrived at the hospital. But now that they knew Palmer probably was the perpetrator, who knows what he could have injected into Harm. The blood that was drawn from Harm had been stored, so a tox-screen could still be performed, which probably would be a wise thing to do. Palmer liked to se people suffer, he usually kept his victims conscious, but unable to move, so that he was in total control. Then he tortured them for a while, often just for fun, before he put them out of their miseries. 

"Benson, get in here," Webb shouted into the intercom. Just seconds later, a fairly nervous junior-agent, with a pencil behind his ear, entered the office. "What can I do for you, sir", he said with a what-have-I-done-wrong-now expression about his face.

"No, you haven't screwed up this time," Webb remarked, he saw the worried expression in the young man's face. The junior-agent heaved a sigh of relief. 

Webb continued. "We need a tox-screen in the Rabb-case. I want you down at the forensic lab personally, to see that every test possible is done. And bring the results directly up to me, no detours." 

"No, sir, eh, I mean yes, sir. I'm on my way," the junior fumbled with the pencil behind his air, as he hastily went towards the door. 

"And if you screw this simple task up, you will be shuffling paper in Alaska next week, or snow for that matter", Webb shouted after him, he really enjoyed scaring the heck out of the rookies. 

After Webb asked for it, it didn't take long before the tox-screen of Harm's blood was performed. When CIA was in charge people seemed to work faster, Webb wasn't sure why…

An hour later the junior-agent rushed into Webb's office, he was in such a hurry he almost forgot to knock. "The results," he took a deep breath, "from the tox-screen, sir," he had been running through the corridors and was completely out of breath. Webb grabbed the sheet that was given to him. He looked at it. "A trace of pancoronium bromide, a heavy muscle relaxant, I expected something like that," he mumbled to himself. Harm would probably have been unable to move just 40 seconds after the injection, and with repeated injections, stayed that way for hours. But Palmer usually tortured his victims, so why hadn't Harm got other injuries than the bullet wounds? Had they overlooked something? A doctor should probably examine Harm once more, thoroughly this time.

To catch Palmer they had to wait until he tried again, Webb didn't like it, but he knew it was the only way. It would be impossible to try to track Palmer somewhere else. He was just too careful.

Even if Palmer had concentrated his work on Harm for the last years, it didn't mean that he was his only victim, but he was his prime victim. When he was finished with Harm, he would retire. He would leave the country, find himself a quiet small pacific island and live there for the rest of his life. It wasn't the most original plan, he knew that. But it was what he always had dreamed of, ever since he was a boy, when his mother had made him sit down in the dark basement for hours, even if he hadn't done anything wrong. A pacific island had been a precious escape from reality when he was little, but would soon be reality now. An evil smile came over his face when he thought of what he had done to Harm. He had enjoyed every minute of the tormenting and torture. And Harm had just been lying there, without being able to fight back, talk; virtually he couldn't move a muscle. Harm had deserved it. It was Harm's fault that he had to go to jail. The prison cell reminded him too much of the hellhole of a basement he had spent so much time in as a child.  He would rather die, than going back to a place like that.

Palmer put on a pair of round glasses. Together with a fake mustache, some make-up and a white lab-coat no one, not even Harm, would recognize him. This was the second time he would have a look around the hospital. The first time he had checked out the exits, how to get out fast if he had too. This time the purpose, among others, was to find out when the doctors made their rounds in the unit where Harm was situated and how often they changed the guard outside Harm's room. It wouldn't be long now before he would make a new attempt. Just a couple of days… Palmer was an expert in this field. He opened the door of the supply-room he had been preparing in and went into the corridor, where he quickly blended in with the staff rushing back and fort. He looked like any other doctor.

Mac was back at Harm's side. Even if she had been resting and sleeping some hours at home the last two days, you could see fatigue and pain in her eyes. She knew too well that the longer Harm stayed in a coma, the bigger was the chance of brain damage, or that he didn't wake up at all.

"Hey, how is he", Bud appeared in the doorway. 

"No changes," Mac didn't know how many times she had said those words. "It's nice with some company, Harm is probably sick and tired of hearing my voice," Mac said and tried to smile, but she didn't quite succeed. Bud found himself a chair and sat down beside Mac. They just sat there, Bud looking at Harm and Mac staring at the wall behind him. Bud broke the silence. "Do you know what happened at work today, Harm? Tiner was bringing coffee into the Admiral. His mind was otherwise occupied so he didn't notice the Gunny coming around the corner. It was a direct hit. Coffee flying everywhere. You can just imagine how Chegwidden reacted." Bud knew he was babbling, but he just had to say something. It was never silent in a room when Harm was there, and it shouldn't be now either. Since the fact that Harm was in that room at all partly was his fault, at least Bud thought it was, he felt he had to do everything to make everyone feel better. That he himself felt miserable wasn't that important, he deserved to be miserable.

Both the Police and the CIA had questioned every person that maybe could have any information. Harm had been at the party Saturday night. At approximately 1.00 a.m. he said he wanted to head home. He was tired, had been up since 5.30. He was the kind of person who liked to get up early in the morning and go early to bed. Every morning before work, and also in the weekends he used to go for a run in the park.  No one that had been in the park around 6.00 a.m. Sunday morning had seen anyone that matched Harm's description. The park wasn't that big, someone should have seen him. It was highly unlikely that he would have skipped the run, so he was probably already in Palmers hands at that time.  Shivers went down Webb's spine when he thought about it.  If they caught Palmer alive, Webb really would have liked to be in a room alone with him, knocking him senseless. That maniac deserved a good beat. But as head of the case, he knew he had to stay professional. If he as much as touched Palmer, the case probably would be dismissed. Harm was a one of his few friends; he couldn't risk that. If Palmer got off the hook because of irregularities in the investigation, Webb knew he never could forgive himself.

Bud and Mac simultaneously turned around towards the door when they heard steps. As usual it was a doctor, but he was followed by a nursing assistant. "Hi, I'm Dr. Shapiro. We have got instructions from the CIA to take Mr. Rabb down for another examination." "The CIA?" Mac and Bud both looked like question marks. "Yes, an agent named Webb gave the order," the doctor explained. The door suddenly opened again. Webb entered the room in his usual somewhat cocky way. When he noticed Harm, he just stopped. The pen he held in his hand fell to the floor, and he stood there with his mouth open, staring at Harm. The cockiness had vanished within seconds. He hadn't visited Harm yet, and didn't realize before now how bad Harm really seemed.  But after a few seconds he snapped out of it. He turned to Mac and Bud. "We have to take Harm down for another examination. The evidence points towards Palmer. God knows what he can have done to him, that wasn't detected during the first examination. We are in this minute placing a guard outside this room. No one enters or leaves without permission."  Both Bud and Mac knew too well what Palmer was capable of. None of them felt like saying something. The doctor and the nursing assistant started to make Harm clear for transport down. They quickly took him of the respirator and connected him to a smaller transportable one. Then they pushed Harm out of the room at Webb's sign. A guard waited outside to follow them. Harm wouldn't go anywhere without a guard before Palmer was behind bars or other way neutralized.  

Mac and Bud were left alone. The room was once again silent.


	7. Chapter seven

Disclaimer: Don't own it.

**_Part 7_**

In a brightly illuminated room, Harm was lying on an examination table. Two doctors where busy examining every inch of his body. Three persons were observing through a glass-wall, Mac, Webb and Chegwidden. Bud had just left. He hadn't been home for 14 hours, first a long day at work, den some hours with Harm and Mac. And today was the fourth day in a row he had been doing this. When the Admiral joined them, he had practically ordered Bud to go home.

An extra furrow or two had assembled on the Admiral's forehead the last few days. It was hard running the office when his two finest officers were absent. And the extra that was hired in, was an asshole, if he gave himself permission to speak freely. Chegwidden hoped she would screw up big time, soon, so that he had an excuse to fire her.  What was her name again? Lt. Zimmer, Stinger? No, Lt. Singer was her name.

The examination was time-consuming. No potential irregularities were omitted.  After a little more than an hour it was finally over. One of the doctors approached the persons behind the glass-wall, while the other one made Harm ready for transportation back to his room.

"What did you find?" Webb was the first to speak. Since the doctor didn't respond immediately, Web started to get impatient, like always.

"I don't have all day," he mumbled loud enough for everyone to hear, and was going to continue with something about useless doctors. Mac just gave him one of her "don't start" looks, and Webb quickly shut up and looked away. 

The doctor finally spoke. "We didn't find much, but what we found was relatively disturbing. We should go somewhere else, so that you can have a seat while I tell," he looked towards Mac.

"No, just spit it out," Chegwidden knew that Mac could handle it as well as anybody else. They could sit down later. Mac silently reached out a hand; Chegwidden hesitantly took it and held it tight. They both knew that what would come wouldn't be pleasant to hear. It was good to know that someone else was there, it gave them both some kind of comfort. 

The doctor continued. "We found several small circular marks, just a couple of millimeters in diameter, on his torso, arms, and legs, including under his feet and in his palms." 

"What could have caused them," Webb asked, he already had his suspicions.

"We have never seen anything like it. At first we hadn't got a clue what could have caused anything like this. The only thing we can think of now is that some kind of electrodes have been attached there. This also agrees with the traces of burned tissue that was found in the middle of most of the circles." 

"Anything else," Webb continued like what he'd just heard was an everyday thing.

"Puncture marks were found on various parts of Mr. Rabb's body. Needles have been inserted into him, exactly deep enough to be extraordinary painful, without injuring any vital organs or hitting major blood vessels. The person who did this must know a whole lot about human anatomy. We have never seen anything like it," the doctor stated.

"But the muscle relaxant, wouldn't it do so that Harm didn't feel pain," Mac basically was clinging to a straw.

"No, the muscle relaxant would just make him unable to move. He would be fully aware and feel everything that was done to him. It must be one of the worst forms of torture, the pain must have been excruciating," the doctor added sadly.  It was the hard facts. There was no consolation. 

All of them knew it. Harm must have gone through hell the hours he was in Palmer's power.   

Palmer, now in another motel room, this one neither deserving as much as one star when the standard was considered, was carefully putting some syringes, needles and a small bottle with a clear liquid into a bag. This would take care of Harm.

He thought about what had gone wrong six days ago. That damn real-estate agent! 

Palmer was just finishing up. He had just shot Harm, packed his gear together and was almost finished cleaning up all evidence when he heard a noise downstairs. Someone entered the building and opened the door to the apartment on the first floor. It was a real-estate agent; Palmer saw her car through the window. She just wanted to have a last look at the apartment to se that everything was ok. Some potential buyers would come by on Monday.  Palmer didn't move a muscle when she was down there. Then he heard that she started to go up the stairs. Had she heard something after all? Palmer couldn't take the chance to stay. He quickly picked up his bag, opened a window on the back and cautiously closed it before sliding down the gutter, still wearing plastic gloves. He looked around. No one there. Then he walked away like nothing had happened. In all the hurry he'd forgot to place the "suicide note" he had written, carefully copying Harm's handwriting. It wasn't a big mistake. Not everyone who killed themselves left notes. As soon as he came back to the motel he burned the note. One more part of evidence gone.

What Palmer never got to know was that if he had stayed, he could have finished his job. The real-estate agent just wanted to see what the hallway looked like upstairs when her phone rang. She had left it in the apartment, and went down to get it. Then she forgot about going upstairs and left the building. She had no idea about the drama going on upstairs. 

Palmer had put on a wig, a fake nose and some make-up. He now looked like a man in the fifties, almost exactly like one of the doctors, Dr. Felsenstein, who had access to Harm's room. This doctor wouldn't be anywhere near Harm tonight, but the guard outside of Harm's room didn't know that. Palmer had gone through the doctor's schedule carefully. And if Mac or Bud was there, they wouldn't react; they had seen this doctor before. He couldn't afford to do mistakes. The guards had got detailed descriptions of Palmer and his known aliases, but he wasn't worried. He had passed right under their noses last time he was at the hospital, and then he hadn't half as god disguise as he had now. They hadn't even looked twice. 

An hour later, Palmer found himself at the hospital. He had just hidden his bag in a storage room, and only carried what was really necessary. Then he headed towards Harm's room. Now it would finally happen, he would get rid of his enemy, his eyes lit up with evil happiness. That was not the face of a sane man. But the happiness he felt while thinking about hi task wasn't as great as before. It was the dreams about the pacific island that occupied his mind more and more often. Killing Harm was just one step on the way.  He was getting tired of the everlasting hunt.

"Good evening", he nodded towards the guard. 

The guard nodded back, he was just finishing his shift, and eagerly waiting for his replacement who was ten minutes late. 

Palmer entered Harm's room. No one was there. "Perfect," he said to himself. He looked at the pale shape in the bed for a while. Now it was just the easy part left, he filled a syringe with the clear liquid from the small bottle he carried. Outside, the new guard had just arrived, he hadn't seen the first "doctor" enter, and thus didn't react when apparently the same doctor entered again. Palmer was just about to inject the liquid into Harm's IV when the door opened. Dr. Felsenstein, whose identity Palmer had "borrowed" entered the room. The tire of his car had blown out on the way to work and the spare tire was out of air, so he was doing his rounds much later than usual. Once again coincidences, the one thing Palmer couldn't control, ruined his perfect plan. 

"Hey, get away from him," Dr. Felsenstein yelled, he saw the person looking almost like him, standing by the bed with a syringe in his hand. 

"What the …," the guard heard the yelling and rushed into the room. 

Palmer used the seconds of confusion to make a run for it, knocking over the doctor on the way. The doctor fell into the guard's arms; they both ended up in a pile on the floor. Palmer spurted down the hallway, he ran for his life. He had to disappear fast, leave the country before morning. There was not going to be a third try now. It would be too risky, his Utopian dream of a perfect, small tropical island had gotten too strong lately, killing Harm wasn't something worth dying for anymore.  Harm was probably injured for life that had to be good enough. A couple of years ago, fleeing from the country without killing Harm wouldn't have been an option. Things had changed.

An alarm was sounding through the building, when Palmer was on his way down the stairs.

Webb received a call almost at the same time as the alarm went of. He had a meeting with Chegwidden about Harm's security in the almost empty cafeteria at the time. It didn't take long before all entrances were sealed off and police and CIA agents were all over the place. Harm was checked out once again to assure that he was alright. But they couldn't completely seal off the emergency room, in case of emergencies; this was where Palmer, still dressed as a doctor could wander unimpeded through the door, to freedom, at least for now. 


	8. Chapter eight

Disclaimer: Don't own JAG.

A/N: Finally a new chapter. I know it isn't very long, but I haven't got very much time to write. So it's better with on shorter chapter, than no chapter at all. Keep reviewing; it makes me write more.  

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**_Part eight_**

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CIA-agents turned the Hospital upside down in their search for Palmer. They weren't successful. Palmer had gotten away again. Police officers had been sent out to guard the airports and train stations. It would be a difficult task. Palmer's aliases and brilliant disguises would make him almost impossible to track, if he got out of the country it would get even more difficult. 

Patients, some with worried expressions others just curious, wondered what all the commotion was about. They had no idea what was going on, and the CIA didn't give any information, they usually never did. 

The CIA quickly found out that Palmer had left through the ER. The search for evidence of Palmer's whereabouts continued.

The first pieces of evidence were the bottle and the syringe Palmer had dropped as Dr. Felsenstein interrupted him. The content of the bottle would be analyzed right away; it maybe could tell something about where he had got it. Different companies often make the same chemicals with slightly different ingredients.

"Sir, we found this in a storage room down the hallway, it doesn't seem to belong to any of the staff," junior agent Benson held up a plastic bag, with a black bag inside. Benson was in a good mood. He was just happy that he still was in town, and not in Alaska.

Webb grabbed it, ripped the plastic bag open and opened the bag inside it. Syringes, plastic gloves, nothing more. "It's definitely Palmer's," Webb stated. He was just going to hand the bag back to Benson, so that he could put it together with the rest of the evidence, when something caught his attention. "Wait a minute, get me a pair of tweezers, this might be interesting," Webb said, Benson quickly handed him his pair.  With the tweezers Web picked up a part of one of those matchboxes you get at hotels or motels.  "Royal Chateau Motel, you're first choice for a good night," the slogan read.

Webb smirked. "What have we got here, it seems like Palmer is getting shaky. We should probably take a look at this place." 

- - - - - - - - -

"What the hell do you think you're doing," Mac cried out in terror, she entered Harm's room as a doctor was about to turn of the respirator. She feared the worst.

The doctor smiled, "take it easy, it's good news. Maybe all the fuss had some unforeseen consequences, or maybe it is just coincidences, but when I came in to check upon Mr. Rabb here, it seemed like he was fighting the respirator, he is breathing on his own now."  

"Thank God, I thought he was dead", Mac said with obvious relief. Her hands were shaking profusely, the tension that had built up in her body in the moment she came in, started to wear off. She had to sit down. 

"But he is still not out of danger, just a little further away from it. His breathing is quite good, but his oxygen level is low, so we'll give him some extra through this tube," the doctor held up a tube of which one end was connected to an oxygen tank and the other to Harm's nose.

The doctor finished up and left a little while later. Mac and Harm was alone. Of cause she knew it was a god sign that Harm was breathing on his own, but she just wasn't able to be happy. She was emotionally exhausted. Waiting for Harm to wake up, and knowing that even if he did wake up, everything necessarily wouldn't be like it used to, had taxed her energy. Being in the surreal world of the hospital didn't make it better. She had to get some fresh air, so that she could regain some strength.

- - - - - - - - - 

"'Royal Chateau', yeah right, what were they thinking? 'Crappy Dump' would be a more suiting name," Webb stated as he drove up to the motel. Benson laughed. 

The agents burst into the motel reception, making the guy behind the counter jump in his chair. The receptionist then tried to straighten his back and look important as the suits entered, which turned out to be a complete failure. As he straightened up his all too tight T-shirt crept up and revealed his fat stomach, and his open fly. Not a pleasant sight. 

"CIA," Webb flashed his badge. 

Have you seen this guy here," one of the agents held up a picture of Palmer.

The receptionist scratched his behind and then his head, making his greasy hair go in all directions. "Yeah sure, he stayed here a couple of days, left half an hour ago, really creepy fellow. Something about his eyes, you know. Has he done something bad?"  

"That doesn't concern you; hand over the key to his room, please," Webb brushed him off.

"OK, OK, here they are nr 32. It's the fifth door to the left," the receptionist gave Webb the key.

The agents quickly found the room and entered it. It seemed that Palmer had left in a hurry. There were some clothes hanging over a chair and a pair of shoes in the closet. Webb picked up the waste basket.  It was empty, except for a half-burned travel catalogue called "Tropical paradise", which offered long-time travels to small Pacific islands. The crispy pages almost crumbled into dust in Webb's hands. The catalogue described hundreds of islands and archipelagos, all Palm trees, white beaches and clear blue sea. But some of the archipelagos were underlined with a black pen; the Phoenix Islands and Gilbert Islands of the Kiribati, the Carolines of the Micronesia Federation and the Cook islands. 

"Maybe we have a lead after all," Webb showed the pages with the underlined names to the other agents.

"Do you know how many islands that is, it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack," one of the agents said silently. 

"The Carolines alone has over 600 islands, and all together it would be around 900 islands," Benson stated, eager to show off some of his extensive geographical knowledge.

"You don't need to rub it in," Webb gave him an angry look. He knew how difficult this would be. But he would do everything to catch Palmer, and would continue his search with or without help until he found him. Then Palmer would pay for his actions. Webb felt he owed that to Harm.

- - - - - - - - - -

Tiner walked down the hallway to Harm's room. There was no guard outside. He knocked on the door. No answer. Chegwidden had sent him to deliver the information they had gathered about Palmer. Mac had asked for a copy but she had turned her phone off, so Tiner though he would find her at the hospital. He carefully opened the door and went in. Now that he was there he wanted to se how Harm was doing.  Some of the bandages on Harm's head had been removed, revealing two long scars on his shaved head. It looked like he was sleeping, Tiner thought. It was strange seeing one of his superiors like this, so human. 

Suddenly Harm opened his eyes. At first he looked around confused. Where was he? Then he felt pain and vaguely remembered something about being in his own apartment, unable to move. Then he spotted Tiner and everything else was forgotten. 

"What the hell is going on between you and my fiancée, I saw you two in that garden, disgusting," it was meant to be loud, but only came out as a whisper. 

Tiner turned around, and looked directly into a pair of angry eyes. His expression was indescribable; surprised that Harm was awake and talking, and even more surprised of what Harm was saying. He looked like a big question mark. "Me and the Colonel, I wish," Tiner mumbled.  "You must have been dreaming, and I better go tell a doctor that you are awake," he continued. He left the room and found a doctor. "Dr, Cmdr. Rabb is awake and talking, but what he is saying doesn't make much sense," Tiner told the doctor, who then hurried to Harm's room. Harm was drifting back into unconsciousness when Tiner and the doctor entered; he just managed to say a faint "hi" before his eyes again closed.

It was late; Mac felt it was time to head back. The fresh air had made wonders. She felt much better and was ready for another night at the hospital. On the way into Harm's room, she met Tiner who was going in the opposite direction.

"Colonel, good to see you ma'am. I've got the papers about Palmer that you requested, ma'am" he handed them over to her. 

"Thank's Tiner, you should go home, do you know what time it is?"

"Yeah I'm on my way, the visit here just got a little longer than planned, Ma'am, the Commander was awake for some minutes."

"He has been awake? You don't know how relieved I am to hear that. You just made my day," she spontaneously gave Tiner a hug.

That completely took Tiner by surprise. The last woman who had hugged him was his mother. "Oh man, Commander Rabb would freak if he saw us now," Tiner thought for himself, he made sure that the door to the Commander's room was closed, in case he was awake again, and then enjoyed the moment. 


	9. Chapter nine

Disclaimer: Don't own JAG

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**_Part nine_**

****

There was a long line in front of the check-in counters at the airport. Everything went very slow. People impatiently looking at their watches, hoping that their plane wouldn't leave without them. The terminal crawled with police officers, watching every person in the lines carefully. The first person in the line for flight AA387 leaving 12.45 am for Santiago, Chile, was a dark-haired slightly overweight man with a lazy eye, probably in his late forties. He wore a business suit, and appeared stressed. It almost seemed like he was running from something. A police officer looked at him, and then looked down at the row of pictures he had of this Palmer guy they were searching for, and quickly ruled him out. This guy was too small, and his head had a different shape. On to the next one. 

"Have a nice flight, Mr. Anderson," the woman behind the counter gave the ticket back to the man, who grabbed it and hastily headed towards the gate. He had been standing there without wincing the whole time the police officer compared him to the pictures, and had to make an effort not to look too relieved when the officer moved on to the next one in the line. The disguise was good enough; he had had so little time to prepare it that he feared that it wouldn't work. But it was amazing how make-up could make the shape of the head look different, and how small he could seem if he just walked in a specific manner. And the lazy eye, it was something he had wanted to try out for a long time, just for fun. Making disguises had almost become a routine. The last years he had more often been someone else than he had been himself, and it had started to consume him. He know it had to end, if it didn't he probably would go over the edge. The real Clark Palmer had to get out more. It would probably be too risky to use his own name, but being himself with a fake name was the second best option, he had to take it.

A couple of minutes after Palmer went to the gate; the police officers and agents got a message over their communication system to abort the mission and return home. The airport returned to normal.

- - - - - - - - -

It was Tuesday morning. Harm had been unconscious since Tiner had visited him last night. Mac had been sitting by his side all night hoping that he would wake up again. She had tried to stay awake, but had fallen asleep, with her head on Harm's chest, some time during the night.  Harm suddenly started moaning. 

"Oh, God my head is killing me," he mumbled. He slowly opened his eyes and gazed around the room. Where was he? It looked very much like a hospital room, but he had no recollection of getting there. And why was his head hurting so much? He wanted to touch his head with his hand, but the hand didn't move. He tried the other hand, but it wouldn't move either. Now he really started to get scared. Then he spotted Mac sleeping with her head on his chest, and the panic started to fade away, until he realized something. Why didn't he feel her head lying there? He felt himself succumb to the panic that spread across his mind. He started hyperventilating. The sudden changes in his breath rate made an alarm on one of the machines go off, and Mac was abruptly swept out of her dreams.

A doctor came rushing into the room just seconds after the alarm went off. Mac, not yet really awake, wasn't sure what was going on. 

Harm was terrified and breathing like a mad man. "Why can't I move, what's wrong with me," he asked frantically, his eyes desperate. 

"This will make you feel better," the doctor gave him something to calm down. A panic attack like this could only make things worse again, and it was better to talk with him when he was calm. Mac, the usually strong marine, couldn't help herself; she started to cry when she saw the fear and torment in Harm's eyes. She had never seen him like this, so terrified.

The mild sedative the doctor gave Harm kicked in after a few minutes, and Harm's breath and heart rate returned to normal a little later.  But his eyes still were filled with fear. 

"What's wrong with me," he whispered again, almost crying. 

"You are at the hospital Mr. Rabb, and I'm Dr. Porter, one of the doctors who have been attending you. Do you know why you're here," the doctor asked him.

"I can remember lying on the floor in my apartment, and there was another person there," Harm tried to remember something more, but his memory of what had happened was just a black hole. It was so frustrating!

"All the circumstances why, are not clear, but you where shot, two bullets hit your head, the police is suspecting a certain Clark Palmer for doing it. You have been in a coma the last week, we're glad that you are with us again," Dr. Porter said kindly. 

He continued. "The CAT-scan showed possible brain damage. I will check your reflexes, this will hopefully give us a little more knowledge of your problems; I will start with your feet, and if you feel something, tell me." The doctor checked the reflexes in Harm's arms and legs by pressing on certain places in palms and under his feet. It only took a moment. 

Harm didn't say a word while the doctor checked him out. Both Mac and Harm were painfully aware of that this couldn't be good news. Harm looked the doctor in the eyes, just awaiting the devastating news he feared would come. 

- - - - - - - - -

Webb was walking back and forth in his office. If the carpet had been of lower quality, a path probably would have formed. He stopped and nervously played with a pencil before he slammed his fist into the wall. The boss simply couldn't do this to him, talking some bullshit about not having enough resources to turn the world upside-down trying to find a guy just wanted for an attempted murder. And that there were higher profiled cases. That was pure crap. For Webb there were no higher profiled cases. Finding Palmer and making him pay was the one case that it was worth working on. He would find Palmer if it was the last thing he did in this world, with or without his bosses permission. It was getting more and more like an obsession. But alone it would be an impossible task. He had to get together a small team, some people he could trust.  

Why had it become so important to him to get Palmer, Webb wasn't quite sure. It just felt like the right thing to do. He hadn't been that close to Harm. They were friends, not very close friends, but friends although. And friends was not what Webb had too many of. Both his work and personality made it difficult to get friends, and to keep them. He never showed anyone that he enjoyed having them around, rather the opposite. One usually had to know him quite well to get underneath his protective shell, and not find him offensive. Harm was one of those that he felt he really knew, and that really knew him. He had just always been there the last years. Ok, they often met because of work, but Webb knew that they would keep in touch even if they didn't have anything to do with each other at work. 

He suddenly snapped out of his thoughts. No time to be wasted. He had to act quickly before the few leads they had, got cold. The first team member was already pointed out. He would join the team if he wanted or not. Webb knew he had power over this guy, and that he would do whatever it takes to please his superior.

"Benson, get in here," Webb yelled through the intercom. 

- - - - - - - - -

At flight AA397 a cartoon was on. Palmer laughed out loud every time the big pink bunny made some kind of mishap when it tried to win over the tortoise. He loved cartoons. As a boy he wasn't allowed to watch TV at all. He had been making up for it ever since.  

"Mister, aren't you a little old to watch cartoons," a little girl, maybe six years old, crawled up on the empty seat next to him. "My brother says he is too old to watch cartoons, he is twelve," she continued. She looked at him, smiling.

"You're never too old to watch cartoons. As long as you enjoy it, it's no reason not to watch it. Your brother doesn't know what he is missing," Palmer smiled back. This little girl was so sweet, so innocent. Not knowing anything about this cruel world. 

"My name is Maxine, what's yours?" 

"I'm Clark," he answered laughing, not realizing that he gave her his real name. 

Maxine immediately continued. "Do you want a cookie, they're very good". She held up a little box filled with cookies.

"Oh, chocolate chips, my favorite, they look very good. I'll try one," with that she picked up a cookie and handed it to him.

"Um, yummy, the best cookie I've ever tasted," Palmer rubbed his stomach, slightly overdoing it, like one often do when dealing with children. 

A woman came from the back. "I said you should stay on your seat, while I was in the bathroom, Maxine. You can't just take off like this," she gave Maxine a strict look. 

"But, Mummy, I couldn't see the cartoon because of the tall man, so…"

The woman cut her off, she turned to Palmer. "I'm so sorry Mr..?"

"Anderson, Edwin Anderson," Palmer intervened.

"Maxine is so nosy, I hope she hasn't caused you any trouble," the mother said in an apologetic tone.

"Not at all, she is a delightful kid."

"The cartoon is over now, so say good bye to the nice man," Maxine's mother took her hand and dragged her along before she could say anything. 

- - - - -

Not everyone enjoyed the cartoon.

"Finally, the cartoon is over, and the chitchat in the row in front of us has ended to, maybe it finally will be possible to get some sleep now," an elderly woman in the row behind Palmer said to her husband, who just nodded at her words. They had heard the whole conversation between Palmer and Maxine.

Palmer also used the quiet moment to get some sleep. It was just half an hour before the plane would arrive at the Arturo Merino Benitez International Airport in Santiago, and he had a long journey in front of him.

A little while later the elderly woman, not yet asleep, whispered to her husband; "kind of strange, don't you think. When the man talked to the girl, he called himself Clark, but to the mother he said Edwin."

"Try to sleep, Marge, it is probably just a middle name or something," her husband said with a yawn. Minutes later they were both asleep.

- - - - - - - - -

Dr. Porter still wasn't comfortable in situations like this. He loved to be a doctor, but to give patients bad news, was something he could be without. He never seemed to get used to it, like the other doctors did. And here the news wasn't very good. He just had to jump into it. 

 "Well," he hesitated. "I'm afraid what I'm going to say is not uplifting. You have no reflexes in your feet and your left arm.  In your right arm there is a weak reflex, but that can improve." For a few seconds the room was dead silent, and then he went on. "When there are no reflexes it usually means permanent paralysis, but there is always exceptions, you know." He tried to cheer up the situation.

Mac and Harm first looked at the doctor, then at each other, with expressions impossible to interpret. No words were said for a while. They had to digest the information. This couldn't be true. Their lives would be changed for ever.

For Harm there was one thing that was important now. Keeping fit and exercising had always been a big part of his life. He didn't know if he could handle being stuck in a wheelchair.

"Will I ever walk again?" Harm looked at the doctor, pleading. 

"I wish I could give you good news, but I can't. It really doesn't look good," Dr. Porter answered. God, he hated this.

Harm just lay there, saying nothing. He silently started crying. Was this how the rest of his life would be? A vegetable, constantly dependent on other people.  

"Why didn't Palmer finish the job this time, like he usually does," he sobbed silently, as more and more tears rolled down his cheeks.

He felt a hand stroking his hair, and a soft kiss on his forehead.

Mac looked him in the eyes. "Don't you dare thinking like that. We are getting through this, together."


	10. Chapter ten

Disclaimer: As always, I don't own JAG

A/N: I really enjoy the feedback, so keep it coming!

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**_Part 10_**

It was two days later. Harm hadn't said very much after the talk with the doctor. And the few words he had said were not very pleasant, mostly angry comments to the nurses. He wasn't actually the nurses' favorite at the moment. But the last 24 hours he hadn't been talking at all. He had withdrawn into himself, thinking. What had he done to deserve this? All his plans for the future shattered to pieces two days ago, hell he had no future. He couldn't merry Mac that was sure. He would just be a bother to her, and anyway, being a marine and having a husband in need for constant nursing was as good as mutual exclusive. Of cause he still loved her, but she deserved something better, and she couldn't resign her duties for him. That was no option.

Mac went through his pain with him; he didn't seem to notice it. She had tried to get him to talk, but without success. She had finally fallen asleep in the chair by his bed, and had just woken up a little while ago.

She gently let her hand slide over Harm's cheek and looked him deep into the eyes. "We are getting through this together, you hear me," she whispered. She had no idea how many times she had tried to comfort him and reassuring him that somehow everything would be all right, but it was like talking to a brick wall. He just stared into the roof. The room was silent again.

Suddenly tears started to roll down Harm's cheeks. He slowly turned his head and looked at her; the small movement of his head made him wince in pain, and felt the room started to spin. Sharp pain and dizziness always followed when he tried to move his head. Mac was relieved that there finally was a reaction, but to see him in so much pain tore at her heart. She caressed his cheek. Their tears mixed as she gave him a soft kiss on the spot where her hand just had been.

Almost stifled by sobs he cried out; "but you don't know what it's like to be in constant pain. And how humiliating it is that I can't clean myself and have to use a catheter. I can't even turn around in bed without help, God damn it. I'm fuckin' useless, a damn vegetable." All his built-up anger, frustration and pain came out in one big blast, and Mac was there to take it. She tried to wipe away some of his tears with her sleeve, but it was a futile assignment.

"I know it won't be easy, but we will find a way to deal with this. I love you and will always be there for you. And you are not useless, don't ever say that", Mac again tried to comfort him.

"I love you too, and because I love you so much I want my ring back. You deserve something better than me," Harm's voice was calm and his tears stopped.

Mac couldn't believe what she'd just heard. "You got to be kidding," was her first reaction. Was he really saying what he did? "That's bullshit and you know it. It's your pain and anger talking. I love you, and I'll stay here with you until you realize it. It's you I want to merry, no matter what happens. Period!" She gave him a firm look and carefully put his hand into hers, and made sure that he noticed it.

But Harm was quite insistent about it. He had thought a lot about it lately. "Please don't make it harder for me than it already is. It's the hardest decision I've ever made, but it's for the best, for both of us." He continued. "You don't have to be my helping hand and I don't have to see you waste your life and career because of me. I couldn't take that."

"Give a damn about my career. To get you back on track is the most important thing right now. I'll stay if you want it or not." Mac adjusted her position in the chair and made it clear that she wasn't going anywhere.

"Please go, I don't want you here, Harm made the most of it to sound convincing.

"Could you just put a sock in it? I'll stay, period!" Mac had turned on "Marine mode" and Harm knew that it would be impossible to convince her to leave. Why was she so damn stubborn? Oh God, he loved her so much, but he had to let her go. He had convinced his pain-filled mind that it was for the best, so it had to happen.

"Please don't make this so hard, I'll call the guards if I have to. Don't you realize that it's for the best?" Harm made a last desperate effort to make her go away. His eyes filled with tears once again. "Please!"

- - - - - - - - -

The mood in Harm's hospital room matched the weather outside. Rain was pouring down and Webb got soaking wet as he ran from his car to the office building. He had been in meetings all day. The boss had made sure that he had his hands full, with all kinds of crappy cases. But nevertheless he had made progress in the search for Palmer. He had helping hands now. Of course Benson did whatever Webb told him, so he had got the passenger lists from all potential flights Palmer could have been on. And last night Webb had been sitting in his office studying the lists to long after midnight. He didn't know why, but his gut feeling said that Palmer was one of the passengers on the list in front of him, and he usually trusted his gut feeling. Drops of water dripped down from his wet coat and landed on the list for flight AA397 to Santiago. He already had a man on the case, tracking down and talking to the passengers over the phone. With one foot in the Marine Corps and the other in the CIA, Gunnery sergeant Victor Galindez was the perfect man for the job. The fact that he was of Mexican origin and of cause spoke Spanish was just a bonus. It hadn't taken much persuasion to get him in on it, and a quick phone call with admiral Chegwidden cleared Gunny's schedule for the next weeks. He already had the necessary permits so he started right away. Since Webb officially wasn't on the case, Chegwidden had arranged that the gunny officially never would leave JAG the time it would take to get Palmer. But what he did unofficially was another matter.

- - - - - -

Tracking down the passengers wasn't easy. Not too many of them had left a phone number while ordering the tickets. So Victor had to track the people it would be possible to reach. The list in front of him had around 100 names. He put the phone down and crossed out another name on the list. No one had heard or seen anything out of the ordinary, and now it was only a few names left on the list. Gunny started to think that his work was useless. Palmer probably had a perfect disguise like always, so no matter ho good description he gave of Palmer it wouldn't help. But h really wanted to help and he wasn't a quitter, so he took a deep breath and looked at the next names on the list. An elderly married couple, Marge and James Rutherford, traveling to Santiago to visit their son, who worked for an American shipping company there.

Victor picked up the phone dialed the number that was given. A few seconds later there was a man at the other end of the line, "Rutherford".

"Mr. Rutherford, my name is Gunnery Sergeant Galindez. I'm with the CIA."

"The CIA? We are ordinary people, we haven't done anything wrong." Mr. Rutherford seemed utterly surprised. It' wasn't everyday someone from the CIA called.

"No, you haven't done anything wrong. I'm calling since I understand that you and your wife were passengers on flight AA397 from Washington DC to Santiago early last Wednesday. Is that correct?"

"Yeah, why," Rutherford wondered.

"We believe that a man wanted for an attempted murder was on that flight, and would like to get it confirmed. So I would like to know if you saw someone who, if only remotely, matches this description." Victor continued describing Palmer.

"No, I can't say that. But just wait a minute, I'll get my wife. Maybe she has seen something. She is much better in remembering people than me." Seconds later Mrs. Rutherford was on. Victor sighed and described Palmer for the umpteenth time. And of cause, Ms Rutherford hadn't seen anyone who matched the description.

Mrs. Rutherford found this very fascinating. She and her husband in the middle of a CIA case, she couldn't wait to tell her friends. She wanted to know more.

"What's the wanted mans name, maybe I've heard something," Mrs. Rutherford asked curiously.

"Sorry, that's classified," Victor stated, studying his fingers intensely. This started to get boring.

He gave them his number in case they should remember something and was about to hang up, when Mrs. Rutherford suddenly almost shouted; "wait, I just remembered something. There was a man, a businessman I think. He was talking to a little girl and called himself Clark, but later when he talked to the girl's mother he called himself Edwin. I thought that was strange and pointed it out to you, James, didn't I?" Her husband nodded consenting. "But he didn't look like the man you described though, not at all. He had a lazy eye," Mrs. Rutherford continued.

With that Victor was again fully concentrated, his fingers were suddenly not so interesting anymore, but his voice stayed calm and polite as always. The less these people knew the better. "That's interesting. We'll take it into consideration, and as I said, call if you should remember anything else," Victor said politely. "And I hope you'll understand that this information is classified until the case is closed," he continued, and thereby ruined all the fun for Mrs. Rutherford, who murmured at the other end of the line.

After some polite words Victor said good bye and hung up. He let his finger run over the names on the list. It stopped at one name, Edwin Anderson. Of cause there could be thousand of reasons that this man called himself Clark, and Victor knew that they hadn't got the time and resources to go around half the world after the wrong guy. This had to be Palmer. Victor picked up the phone again and dialed another number. "Webb, I think we maybe have a lead."


	11. Chapter eleven

Disclaimer: Don't own JAG blah blah…..

A/N: Finally a new chapter. I've been home sick for a week, so I had time to write. At least the cold was good for something…

**_Part 11_**

Victor hung up the phone after the talk with Webb. They had agreed to pursue the lead. It was the only thing they had, so it was everything or nothing. He looked down at the list again. Edwin Anderson was one of those that had given a phone number when he ordered the ticket a month ago. It was an American number, and if Anderson and Palmer were the same guy, the number would probably be bogus and lead to nothing. Victor dialed the number and waited for reply. It came almost instantaneous; "USP Leavenworth, how can I help you?" Victor had to laugh. Palmer usually had everything figured out to the smallest detail. Leavenworth had been Palmer's "home" the last four years, so actually it wasn't a bogus number. But Leavenworth was also probably the place Palmer hated the most in this world, and a place he certainly not wanted to return to. Anderson and Palmer were definitely the same guy. It was just like him to come up with this little inside joke.

"Excuse me," a nervous looking guy in a black suit had apparently come out from nowhere and was now standing in front of gunny's desk. "My name is Jr. Agent Benson. Agent Webb sent me here to deliver this information to you personally." Benson handed Victor a grey envelope. Victor looked at it and opened it quickly. All the documents inside were marked "Classified" with a red stamp. It was interesting reading. Webb had tracked down the travel agent where Mr. Anderson had bought his ticket. Santiago was just an intermediate stop. Mr. Anderson had also reserved a ticket from Santiago to Western Samoa in the heart of the Pacific. He was probably already in Western Samoa or from there headed off to God-knows-which island. The phone rang. Webb's familiar voice could be heard. "Pack your bag Gunny, we're going to Samoa."

- - - - - - - - -

Palmer sat on a small dock near a small village in Western Samoa, looking out over the sea. He impatiently looked at his watch. There was an oppressive heat, and not as much as a gust of wind, he was drenched in sweat. The sky was blue, but there were some very dark clouds in the horizon, and they were getting closer. He had removed the disguise just after he arrived to Samoa. It was too hot to walk around with a rubber nose and a lot of padding underneath his clothes. Finally what he was waiting for arrived. A small two-motor seaplane touched the water and made its way to the dock. This was how he was going to get to his tropical paradise. He had the route staked out. They had to fly in stages, the plane could only carry that much fuel, and the distances in the Pacific were vast. First stop was Atafu, a small atoll in the archipelago of Tokelau north of Western Samoa, in the middle of nowhere, where they would just stay a couple of hours to get more fuel. But the weather bothered him. Hopefully the storm that seemed on the way wouldn't be so bad, or maybe the pilot knew how to avoid the whole thing. Palmer had no time to loose. People had probably tracked him to Santiago at least, or even to Samoa if they had some wits. So Samoa wouldn't be safe for very much longer. But he wouldn't have stayed there anyway, there were too many people, both natives and tourists. He was heading for more remote areas.

- - - - - - - - -

Bud had cases up to his head. He hadn't even had time to go and visit Harm after he had woken up. He read the next case file. A corporal caught in the act while spraying not-so-pleasant words on his superior's car. Why was this case on his desk? It was a case like made for Lt. Singer. Maybe it wasn't just lack of time that had kept him from visiting Harm. He had heard that Harm's paralysis probably would be permanent and deep in his mind he still had lots of thoughts about whose fault it was. He went through the whole unpleasant incident over and over again and couldn't get the scene out of his head. And every time he came to the same conclusion. It was his fault. He just couldn't face Harm.

Harriet couldn't avoid seeing her husband's anxiety. Bud hadn't been himself after it all happened, and Harriet suffered with him. She had tried everything to cheer him up, but it had no effect. Something had to be done.

- - - - - - - - -

No matter how much he tried, Harm couldn't persuade Mac to leave him or leave the room. The argument had taxed his energy completely. He suddenly felt so tired and even if he tried he couldn't fight the sleep that came over him. It was a restless sleep. His eyelids were flickering. Mac looked at him; he probably would have been tossing and turning in bed, if he could. But except for his eyelids he didn't move a muscle. It went cold down Mac's spine as she realized. It was really this bad. But as suddenly as he fell asleep, he woke up again, his eyes opened wide. They were filled with terror. Mac, who had taken a little walk across the room to stretch her sore muscles, rushed to his side again. "Everything will be okay, it was just a bad dream," she reassured him.

A few seconds went by before Harm could speak; he had to get his breath back. "It was so vivid. It was Palm...," he stopped in the middle of the sentence, swallowing.

"It helps to talk about things, you know, even for a pigheaded flyboy," Mac said with a small grin.

"Huh, me pigheaded, and that comes from you. When you have made up your mind about something, it's like talking to a damn lamppost. I would probably get more out of the lamppost," for a second Harm was back to his old self, with his usual apt comments.

"No, your not pigheaded at all," Mac said with mock mildness in her voice. "You just think everything is better when you deal with it alone, and you're willingly to do everything to get it your way. When will you realize that two people together can deal with a lot of things better than one?" Mac rose from the chair and walked around the room a little, before she stopped in front of the window, looking out on the grey, soggy world outside. It had been raining for days.

"The dream was so vivid," Harm said quietly.

Mac turned away from the window and towards Harm; he looked like a scared little boy.

"I'm starting to wonder if it wasn't a dream at all," he continued. "I was lying on the floor in my apartment, Palmer sat on the couch. On the table in front of him were a whole lot of different syringes and a couple of medicine bottles. On the floor beside me was some electrical equipment, that kind rumors say some agencies use when people don't cooperate the way they want." He paused, it was painful memories.

"Electrodes?" Mac interjected, it was just like the doctor had explained.

Harm nodded. "Palmer had stripped me down to my boxers, and attached all these electrodes to me, and sat there looking at me. Then he rose from the couch and went towards me with a wet sponge, all the time with that devilish, insane smirk on his face. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't, my mouth just wouldn't form any words. I tried to move, but my body wouldn't listen. I was terrified, he knelt down beside be and stroke the sponge over my body and didn't stop before my whole body was wet. He fetched a small remote control with one black and one red button from his pocket and looked directly into my eyes, smiling, when he pushed the red button. And you know, water and electricity isn't a pleasant combination. The pain that struck me, I can't describe it." It dawned upon him that he wasn't telling Mac about some bad dream, it was much worse than that. He had really gone through all this. His memory had started to return, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to remember more. "And he did it over and over again," Harm continued quietly.

There was a knock on the door. "Come in," Mac turned towards the door. Bud came stumbling in, it almost seemed like someone pushed him. Leaving steps could be heard from the hallway. It sounded suspiciously like Harriet. Mac ran out in the hallway to catch up with her. So Bud stood there in the room with Harm, perplexed, not quite sure what he was doing there.

"You look like you just came falling down from the sky, Bud," Harm chuckled. Bud's rather comical entrance made him cheer up a little, forgetting his horrible memories and the pain for a while.

"Uh, what?" Bud was completely out of it. He didn't know where to look or what to say. Harriet had tricked him into this. Why would she always interfere in everything?

"It seems like you're in the wrong room, or on the wrong planet for that matter. But anyway, you saved my day, it was miserable before you came along," Harm smiled. "So how are people at work? Overworked and underpaid as usual?"

"Yeah, as usual, I guess" Bud mumbled. He made no attempt to continue the conversation when Harm stopped asking. An awkward silence settled.

"What's wrong Bud, you're never this silent?" Harm broke the silence.

"I really didn't want to come here. Every time I see you, the whole scene flashes through my head. And every time I see all the mistakes I did more clearly. I forgot the simplest things, like placing you in a recovery position and..," Bud said somberly.

Harm cut him off. "Wait a minute, do you blame yourself for what happened to me," he asked in disbelief. He had wondered a little why Bud didn't come by, but this thought had never crossed his mind. "But that's ridiculous. If you hadn't done what you did, there probably would have been a grave with my name on it somewhere. You saved my life, Bud!"

Bud was staring at the wall, but now looked up with a faint smile on his lips. "Thanks." He felt relieved. Maybe everything would get better now, if he just tried.

Bud turned towards Harm. "You'll never walk again, will you?"

Harm shook his head; "no, doesn't look good. If I'm lucky I'll be able to move my right arm the doctor said. I'll start with physiotherapy tomorrow." There was a pause. "Life will not be the same," he continued thoughtfully.

"I just can't imagine how it must be, are you in a lot of pain?" Bud asked concerned.

"Only all the time, but Mr. Morphine here does wonders you know," Harm glanced up at the small bag of morphine solution hanging on the IV stand. And it's a good excuse too, if I say something stupid, I can just say it's the morphine speaking," Harm said sarcastically. He could find some humor in almost every situation.

Steps were heard from the hallway again. Either a doctor or Mac coming back, Harm thought. In fact it was neither. A smiling Webb, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and kaki pants, showed up in the doorway. "Aloha."


	12. Chapter twelve

Disclaimer: Don't own JAG blah blah…..

A/N: Sorry for the really long delay, I had three weeks vacation wit no computer access and was very busy before and even more now. With 12 to 14 hours work every day, there's not much time for writing and my social life is non-existent. I will update, it will just happen slowly so have patience. If I get many reviews I'll try to update sooner. To make up for the delay I've made this chapter longer than usual.

**__**

**_Part 12_**

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"Why the Hawaiian shirt, and why so cheerful, where's your suit and your usual negative attitude," Harm smiled slightly when Webb appeared in the doorway. "Are you going to Hawaii," he continued.

"No, Western Samoa, it's kind of the same thing. It's and island somewhere in the pacific, it's damn hot and has lots of palms and stuff." Webb looked down at the shirt. "I'm just trying to blend in, not too many people in business suits travel to Samoa."

"But why Samoa," Bud interjected.

"We think Palmer headed in that direction, we're on the way to the airport" Gunny entered the room, wearing the same outfit as Webb. He had let Webb off at the main entrance and had been driving around a little to find a parking space.

Mac hadn't caught up with Harriet, she lost her in one of the many corridors and returned to Harm's room. When she spotted Webb and Gunny in their rather unusual outfits she just had to laugh.

"What?" Webb asked, he had his suspicions why she was laughing.

"Identical Hawaiian shirts and kaki pants? Come on, isn't that a little too much the guy-couple-in-the-nineteen-eighties look?" Mac said with a chuckle.

"Uh, it was his idea," Gunny and Webb quickly stated simultaneously, pointing at each other.

"But if I may say so, you would make a fine couple," Harm tried to keep a serious tone. With that they all burst out in laughter, even Gunny and Webb joined in. But Harm's laughter didn't last very long, it was too painful. He tried to hide the pain, Mac and the others had enough concerns, but it wasn't easy when it felt like a missile exploded an inch from his head whenever he moved it.

- - - - -

"We will make it to Atafu before the storm arrives, won't we?" Palmer asked the pilot who had introduced himself as Bob, a little worried. They were still an hour from their destination, and the dark skies were much closer to the small plane now than an hour ago, thunder could be heard in the distance. They had also experienced more and more turbulence the last hour.

"Sure we will, Mr. Ramsey, and even if we should get into the storm, this baby can ride it off, she has never let me down," the suntanned, slightly overweight pilot grinned and patted the arm-rest of his chair.

"Of cause she hasn't let you down, _yet_, if she had she wouldn't have been flyin' around now; she probably would have been on the bottom of the ocean somewhere." Palmer sounded slightly nervous.

"No worries, we'll get there before the storm," the pilot reassured him while opening a can of coke and drinking it all at once.

"By the way, how long have you had this plane," Palmer asked.

"Around a month," was the answer he got, but not the one he wanted.

Almost an hour went by in silence, Palmer sat in the back, oh he could have killed for a drink to calm his nerves, literally, but the pilot had only coke, and that wouldn't make it any better. The storm came closer and closer, it was unpleasantly close when finally the pilot said that Atafu was in sight and that they would arrive in 15 minutes. Atafu was a tiny green spot in the vast blue ocean. Palmer was relieved. The pilot called the tower and got his landing permission, it wasn't actually a tower, more a small shack made out of mostly sheet iron, palm leaves and a few crumbled bricks. They approached the dusty airstrip, when suddenly a lightening illuminated the sky, the plane started shaking violently and suddenly a loud_ thunk_ was heard from the left side of the plane.

"What was that?" Palmer said upset; he had gone from slightly to very worried.

"Oh shit, that was the left motor, it's dead," Bob yelled back, desperately trying to steer the shaking plane towards the strip. "Don't worry, I've seen worse before, I haven't told you how my previous plane met its end, have I? Let's just say that losing a motor when in a one-motor plane is worse than losing a motor in a two-motor plane," he said laughing while trying to land the plane.

That was definitely not reassuring; Palmer felt his stomach turning inside out and closed his eyes. All the color drained from his face.

"Holy Mary, Mother of God," Palmer signed of the cross and started praying. He couldn't believe he heard himself say that, he hadn't done that for so many years. But before he knew it he felt the plane touching the ground and losing speed as it went down the runway before halting completely. They had made it. As soon as they stopped Bob jumped out of the plane to take a look at the damages.

"Damn, the motor is completely busted. We have to get a new one; we can't proceed with only one motor.

"Can we get that here?" Palmer looked around. It didn't seem promising. Except for the shack and a fuel pump, there was not much there.

"Nope, have to get it from Samoa, will probably take at least a couple of days."

"A couple of days, I haven't got the time for that," Palmer said impatiently.

"Why? Is someone looking for you, are you on the most wanted list or something," Bob joked.

If he only knew how close to the truth he was. Palmer was depressed. Would he never get to his small tropical paradise? Palmer was in a state now that was absolutely nothing like what he used to be. Nothing of him reminded of the scheming, unprincipled Palmer that Harm knew.

An old man with a cane limped out from the shack. He had a long whit beard and only two teeth left in his mouth, and it seemed like they were barely hanging on, like everything else about the man. He approached them. "You almost fall from sky after lightening, but you a good pilot" he said in broken English, looking at Bob.

"Malo ni Tainafi," Bob made a low bow, reached out his right hand and his look made Palmer understand that he should do the same.

"Your plane broken, then you stay with us until plane is fixed. We go to village." The old man wandered off towards a large group of coconut palms.

"What about the low bow, do you know this man?" Palmer asked Bob wondering after the man had left.

"His name is Tainafi, he's one of the elderly in this village, and that's the way the elderly should be greeted around here. I've often fueled up my plane here, so you can say I know him," Bob explained.

They started to follow the old man, and about ten minutes later they arrived in a small village with mostly small huts made out of the only thing it seemed they had a lot of, palm trees, but a few brick buildings, amongst them a church were placed in the middle of the small settlement. They were led to a palm hut on the outskirts of the village; inside there were two beds and not much more.

The old man pointed at the church. "You welcome to join our service tomorrow morning." Then he turned around and left the hut.

"I'm not going to service, that's for sure," Palmer stated.

"I'm not very religious, but I'll go. The villagers would feel offended if we as guests wouldn't show up. The church is everything for this people."

Palmer didn't like the church. He was dragged there every Sunday by his parents when he was a kid. He was home schooled, so it was the only time in the week he was allowed to leave the house, but also the only time he would have liked better to stay home. He hated the old father preaching about eternal damnation for those who didn't believe, or those who didn't follow the then commandments. People were crying and shaking of fear whenever they met the father's eyes. And then there was confession every week. Palmer wasn't old when his philosophy changed from "Thou shall not kill" to "An eye for an eye." His parents had been his first victims, the day he made his last confession, on his14th birthday. He played the role of the scared little boy perfectly. He had told the story about how burglars killed his parents so convincing that no one even doubted it, already then his acting skills where great.

Bob followed Tainafi to the only phone in the village so that he could call his base in Samoa and make them send a motor with the next plane.

- - - - -

"Time for physiotherapy, Mr. Rabb," a cheerful voice announced. A woman in her fifties entered the room smiling. Harm didn't look forward to this. His head was pounding, so he had tried to move his head as little as possible, so it wouldn't get worse. Physiotherapy meant that he would be moved around quite a bit. That would be painful.

"I don't think I'm ready for this, I don't feel good," Harm tried to find a way out.

"It's just some gentle stretching, it will do you good," the woman was as cheerful as before, it started to annoy Harm. Couldn't she see that he was in pain?

Mac sat by the window and observed. She was concerned. The old Harm would never say no to some exercise. It wasn't only that, she could se a kind of worrying pattern emerging. Whenever people he knew visited he was his old self, joking and smiling, but when she was alone with him and especially when hospital personnel was there, he was another person, withdrawn and complaining about everything. She didn't like this new side of Harm.

"Don't be a chicken, Harm. You can't spend the rest of your life in bed," Mac teased.

"But my head…"

"It's only natural to have a bad headache after what you have been through, in the beginning physio will be painful, but as your body gets accustomed to the movement, it will get better," Rose, the physiotherapist interjected, somehow she managed to smile through the whole sentence.

"Come on, Harm, do it for me,"

- - - - -

It was early Sunday morning; festive looking people came from every building in the village and went towards the church. When Palmer and Bob arrived the church was already filled up, only some seats in the back were free, something Palmer found good, it made it easy to sneak out after a few minutes. But he had only finished the thought when he heard a familiar voice telling them to go sit with him in the front row, Tainafi made very clear that his guests should sit with him. Now it wouldn't be so easy to sneak out after all. The service was nothing like the service in the pietistic society where he grew up. People were singing and applauding, laughing and almost dancing, they seemed to enjoy themselves very much. But he didn't like this either, he found the whole church-thing creepy. Around an hour later the service was over and the people went back to their huts or shacks.

"You confessed lately?" Tainafi stopped Bob and Palmer when they were about to leave the church.

"I'm not catholic, so I don't confess, but I think Mr. Ramsey here is," Bob placed his hand on Palmer's shoulder.

"I was, but not anymore," Palmer hurried.

"If you doubt, confession will do good," little, old Tainafi pushed Palmer towards the confession booth.

"Forgive me father for I have sinned, it has been over 20 years since my last confession. Oh, yes I've sinned during that time, quite a lot actually. I've killed quite a few people. And if you tell this to anyone, you'll be the next in line." With that Palmer rose and was about to exit the booth. The father was lucky; he didn't understand a word of English, Bob on the other hand, who had gone back into the church to get away from the heat, couldn't believe what he'd just heard. He hurried out of the church; Mr. Ramsey couldn't know that he had overheard parts of the confession. What should he do now, and who was Mr. Ramsey really?

- - - - -

Two days later, and the pain in Harm's head was as excruciating as before, and lately he had also gotten these dizziness attacks, that made everything spin and him seeing stars. He had been set up for a new CAT-scan, but nothing out of the ordinary had been found. Harm knew he couldn't get morphine for all eternity, so what should he do if the pain didn't go away? Physiotherapy was a pain every time. He had tried to make the very persistent physiotherapist understand that he wasn't ready for her therapy yet, but that was like talking to the wind. She had been bending and stretching everything on his body that was possible to bend and stretch, and even if he couldn't feel that, only a small discomfort, the constant moving of his body also meant his head moving, and that was the problem. And she was so damn cheerful all the time, talking and laughing, asking all these questions about what he used to do and what his life used to be like, like that mattered, it was the past. He would never do it again, never defend any clients or prosecute, never fly, so why rip it open? He had also doubts that the physio would do any good. He hadn't got more sensation in his left arm, and probably he wouldn't either, he would probably need help with just about everything, have 24 hour care. But was that a life? Maybe, but not something he looked forward to. Why had this happened to him?

Sturgis had been visiting Harm as often as his huge workload allowed him to. He worked from early morning to late evening every day to get through all the cases that were waiting. It was difficult to get to the hospital during visitor hours. He had talked to Harm and Mac, both when they were alone and when they were together. He could understand Mac's frustration over Harm's constant mode changes. He could also understand why Harm was frustrated, but not why it seemed like he didn't even tried to get better. That was not the Harm he knew. He had seen right through the mask Harm put on when he visited. Now Harm didn't bother to put on the "everything is ok mask." Sturgis was just annoying anyway.

"Oh come on, I didn't think there were any quitters in the Rabb family," Sturgis exclaimed when Harm once again complained about the physiotherapy not doing any good.

Harm's eyes lightened at that comment. "I'm not a quitter," he said irritably.

"This will cool you make you more comfortable," Mac entered the room holding a tray with a small bucket with water and a sponge.

"Oh, hey Sturgis how are you," she continued and set the tray down on a small table between her and Sturgis.

"I'm not a quitter," Harm muttered again.

"Give me one reason to believe it," Sturgis challenged.

"Can't you just realize, like I have, that I won't get better, for crying out load?" Harm's question was directed to both Sturgis and Mac.

"Harm, don't say that. You'll get better, but you have to try if you want to succeed, you of all persons should know that by now," Mac said aggravated.

"You still haven't given me a good reason," Sturgis continued, he picked up the sponge and threw it from one hand to another.

"Go to hell," was Harm's answer to the request, he immediately regretted what he'd said.

Sturgis stopped playing with the sponge, that was it, he had enough of Harm's whining, suddenly he threw the sponge in Harm's direction. Mac looked puzzled at the whole scenario playing out in front of her. She was going to say something but stopped out of a sudden. Sturgis also suddenly stopped in the middle of his motion, he was about to rise from his chair.

"What," Harm snapped.

"Y,-your arm," Sturgis stuttered and pointed towards Harm's right arm. Mac looked like she didn't know if she was going to cry or laugh.

Harm carefully moved his head to be able to look at his right arm. He couldn't believe what he saw. His arm was elevated a few inches from the bed, and his hand was holding the sponge.


End file.
